


Symphonies of the overdosed

by DisasterSoundtrack



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, M/M, Summer of Like, and the aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 11:13:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3247547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisasterSoundtrack/pseuds/DisasterSoundtrack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Each and every line Pete writes is about Mikey. About how his hair falls over his forehead. About his black T-shirts washed in the sink and how he needs two cups of coffee in the morning to function. Every line is truth and truth alone, every line about the friendship that is too real and the something more that is not real at all. </p><p>Pete waits in a hotel lobby in New York City for the ‘what if’ he loves the most. For the best he’ll never know.<br/>Pete waits for something that is never going to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Symphonies of the overdosed

(1.)

Mikey’s mouth gets trapped somewhere between Pete’s collarbone and the soft flesh of his shoulder. And he’s laughing - why would he be laughing? Pete should be concerned, but he doesn’t have time for that. He’s sinking deep into the friction of every inch of his sweaty, raw body against Mikey’s, trying not to grunt too much, mostly because Mikey has been nice and quiet through the entire thing. That is, until he started laughing.

“Why did you stop?” whines Mikey, disappointed. Pete is disappointed too; oh, he’s even more than disappointed.

“Because you’re laughing.”

“Oh my God, Pete”, says Mikey, dragging Pete down by the nape of his neck and kissing him, messy, easy and unconcerned, the heat of the morning already creeping in through the unlocked hotel window. Pete starts moving again, realizing he had Mikey coming undone below him and this is where the laughter came from. He feels silly, Mikey always makes him feel silly and at least ten years younger, but tonight is like learning how to walk again. Pete feels silly, young and ridiculously happy.

Mikey comes with short, sharp, angular movements that make Pete stop breathing for a second, and then Pete’s shocked back to reality by a wet kiss to his forehead, and the laugh again.

“Oh, Mikeyway, you’re not gonna get away with this.”

He doesn’t last much longer and soon after they’re curled on the bed together, breathing in calculated huffs, in desperate need of a shower.

“It’s so hot nobody will notice if we don’t shower”, thinks Mikey out loud. “We’ll be covered in sweat in fifteen minutes anyway.”

“They’ll notice if we show up for breakfast stinking of sex, I can promise you that.”

Pete earns himself Mikey’s lovely giggle and another long, lingering kiss before Mikey clambers out of bed and goes to take a shower anyway. Pete stares at the ceiling, watches the fan spin, and concludes that he’ll need a little more time to comprehend the happenings of this night – turned – morning. He’ll need much more time to comprehend the existence of Mikey, the fucking innocence he radiates on a daily basis and the devilish way in which he sneaks into Pete’s tour bus and his bunk in the dead of a night for a quick blowjob.

Mikey, Mikey loves like a devil with his arms thrown over his head, clenching the headboard, biting Pete hard. Pete was never ready for any of this. He’s just a moth, trapped by Mikey’s bright light.

He watches Mikey mess with his hair in front of the mirror, still failing to comprehend, understanding nothing about the world, a new song stuck in his head.

 

(2.)

The bus is on the move; Pete rests his head against the cool window and tries to write. The words spill from his pen and onto the paper, line up in messy rows almost without his control, and then he reads them and hates himself. Is he really so obvious?  
Each and every line is about Mikey. About how his hair falls over his forehead. About his black T-shirts washed in the sink and how he needs two cups of coffee in the morning to function. Every line is truth and truth alone, every line about the friendship that is too real and the something more that is not real at all.

Pete hates himself; he’s laughing and cursing, crossing some of the obvious truths out. Joe raises his head from the pillow on the couch and asks, “What?”

“Nothing man, just realized how fucked I am.”

“Tell me something I don’t know”, mumbles Joe, slowly falling back into his hangover sleep.

Pete keeps writing, keeping it half – honest, whatever, nobody needs to know. He writes ambiguously about hotel nights and claustrophobic bunks and Gerard Way’s pants on the floor.

His phone beeps.

_What r u wearing_

Pete replies: _Ur brother’s pants. U?_

He imagines Mikey’s small, twisted smirk while he waits for another beep, drawing over his lyrics mindlessly. His head is heavy with dirty thoughts of what he’s going to do to Mikey next time they see each other.

_My brother’s shirt and nothing more *wink wink*_

He breathes out hot and shaky at Mikey’s reply, completely destroyed by the way his guts seem to be melting, all wrong and excited in anticipation, and continues sexting Mikey until 2 in the morning.

Before he falls asleep, he deletes all the messages.

 

(3.)

They are sitting on the carpet of Pete’s yet unfurnished new Chicago apartment, listening to Slayer, and Mikey’s glasses reflect the flames of a few of the hundred candles Pete lit up. Mikey is smiling, this smallest smile that is ready to escape any given moment, the smile that Pete used to interpret as a breakdown prelude, but then learned to accept it, cherish it and never take it for granted.

Pete’s heart is breaking. Again, or still, he doesn’t know, he’s been feeling this ever since the whirlwind of summer turned into fall and then into early winter. There are Christmas decorations all over the city, but Pete put up none yet.

He’s wearing a hoodie over a sweater; he’s fucking cold. Mikey is sitting cross – legged on the carpet in just a T-shirt.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“No, are you? I’m good.”

They haven’t seen each other for three long months and then some. They’ve kept up the dirty texting and phone calls, obviously, but ever since Mikey showed up in Chicago a few hours ago everything they’ve been doing was eating, listening to Slayer and exchanging three words at a time. Pete wishes so bad for the awkwardness to be gone.

He just wishes for Mikey to fucking hold him. He finds himself unable to make a move.

“So, how’ve you been?” he asks.

“Okay, I guess? Gerard is drawing a lot again.”

“I didn’t ask about Gerard.”

“Well, Frank got another dog.”

“I didn’t ask about Frank either. I wanna know about _you_ , Mikeyway.”

“We’ve talked. I’m okay. I’m always okay, Pete.”

Mikey reaches for Pete’s hands, probably with the intention of warming them up with his, but Pete has had it and he launches himself at the other man, pushing Mikey to the floor not very gently, suffocating him with kisses. And Mikey doesn’t protest, not at all. He’s kissing Pete back enthusiastically, and Mikey’s fingers, oh hell yes, more of that, please.

The awkwardness disappears in a second.

The carpet is itchy against Pete’s shoulder blades while Mikey pushes into him. Pete hasn’t done it for as long as he hasn’t seen Mikey, so it hurts and he holds back a scream. He’s pressing his fingers into the soft flesh of Mikey’s thighs, leaving bruises, claiming his lover’s body.

He wants everybody who ever has sex with Mikey to see the bruises. Pete Wentz was here. Keep out, for your best interest.

Mikey’s glasses are slipping and Pete takes them off, puts them away, revealing Mikey’s eyes. People call Mikey’s eyes dead sometimes. Oh, how wrong they are! There are all of the colors and shades in these eyes, all the emotions yet unnamed, and almost all of them dark, like Mikey himself is a dark creature that has been frolicking in the sun for a while too long.

People will never stop to try and brighten Mikey up. They don’t understand; they don’t see how Mikey should never be brighter. Pete himself is dark too and he wants Mikey as dark as it gets.

It gets pretty dark. Their darknesses match.

He lets go of Mikey’s hand before they fall asleep on the carpet, Pete’s head on Mikey’s chest. He lets go in the morning, dropping Mikey off at the airport, returning to his sad routine. Last night feels like a narcotic wet dream, something out of a novel or a cliché romantic song, making love among the candlelight. Last night feels like something Pete doesn’t deserve.  
He lets go.

 

(4.)

Pete is standing at the edge of Mikey’s driveway, gravel beneath his shoes, kicking stones and looking at soccer moms passing him by in their gray cars. Mikey, meanwhile, is on the phone with his girlfriend.

She’s away. They’re safe in Mikey’s house for now. New Jersey smells like fresh tarmac and French fries for some reason. Pete unzips his jacket, imagines collecting the sadness that fills him up into a ball, imagines kicking the ball away like the stones. He tries to smile through this. He’s always been good at smiling through his misery.

They haven’t seen each other for months, again. Pete knows nothing about Mikey’s everyday life, Mikey knows nothing about Pete’s, and they tell themselves and each other this is the right way; this is how it’s supposed to be. Mikey doesn’t update his online journal anymore. Pete does update his, but he keeps it vague.

Mikey gestures for Pete to come into the house, finally, and Pete walks in, careful not to bring in any mud or dust on the soles of his sneakers.  
There’s unfinished takeout on the kitchen counter and a carton of milk going rancid in the fridge. Mikey puts his arms around Pete in the middle of the living room, whispers “I fucking missed you like hell, Wentz, I wanna see you more often”, a soccer mom yells at another soccer mom behind the window and for a second things are alright in Pete’s world.

But then he looks at Mikey’s face, all affectionate and unnaturally warm, the sadness explodes inside of him and turns to shambles and he rushes to get their clothes off. He takes Mikey’s whispered words and puts them in reverse.

It’s chilly in the living room where they breathe loudly in unison. It’s weird for Pete, being so wrong and so right at the same time; belonging somewhere he has no clearance to belong. They are just as sad together as they are sad alone. They weren’t sad at all in the summer, Pete remembers that, and feels nostalgic for the easier days.

Afterwards, he’s in the bathroom reading labels on Mikey’s meds from the cabinet behind the mirror. It’s quite chilly in the bathroom, too.

 

(5.)

They are shameless, completely, doing it on the balcony of their Hawaiian hotel suite. _At least I’m not screaming this time_ , thinks Pete, his fingers desperately searching for something to grab onto, scraping only tiles, until they come across Mikey’s forearms. Yes, this is good. This is alright.

This is a week with no worries. This is a week bought by lies. Pete is not sure anybody believed the lie he tried to sell, but he went with it anyway. He spilled the truth only to Patrick, because lying to Patrick borders on impossible.

Mikey kisses Pete’s ear prior to biting it, hard, and Pete’s muscles clench everywhere.

“Let’s take this to the bed, okay? Mikey?”

“No way. Not now. Stop” Mikey kisses Pete to shut him up, pain turns into pleasure, and Pete breathes in the smell of Mikey’s new aftershave.

“Come for me, Pete. Come for me, alright?”

Mikey doesn’t have to ask that twice.

Summer is full – blown all around them, sun burning their backs, but it’s another summer that doesn’t feel quite as innocent as their previous one. This one feels like tomorrow’s dreams turned into today’s mistakes.

They are an affair now.

They are going to stay like that forever, coming back to each other, escaping and then coming back again. They are going to stay like that, nothing more, Pete knows. Pete is forever going to be the pathetic text message in Mikey’s phone in the middle of another lonely night.

Their Hawaiian adventure is all kinds of wonderful, though. They get drunk on each other and on Malibu, shower together and go skinny dipping under the starry sky. The way Mikey kisses him, knee – deep in dark, warm water, trying to drag him closer than possible, is worth all the scheming and running from responsibilities. Pete pushes all the lies to the corner of his mind and doesn’t look at them at all. Mikey says three words too much once, but they laugh it off, they don’t care.

They go to a beach night party once, dance with flowers around their necks, shirts off, flip – flops on. The crowd surrounds them and nobody cares how gay they are or how Pete has to stand on his tiptoes to kiss Mikey. Nobody cares, so they are fine with that too.

Pete has the amazing Mikey Way all to himself for the entire week. Before the wheels of his plane hit the gray, rainy Chicago, he’s fully poisoned, jet – lagged, dirty minded, regret all over his tongue.

 

(6.)

“Hey, Pete” Mikey’s voice on the other end of the line is fully awake, but kind of sad and quiet. Pete’s heart skips a beat and his stomach rebels, like it always happens with these middle – of – the – night phone calls.

“Hey, Mikes. What’s up?”

“Not much. I just - just wanted to hear your voice, I guess.”

“Okay. There you have it.”

“How are you?”

Pete takes his time to answer this one. Phone conversations with Mikey often take an awkward turn, a weird turn Pete is uncomfortable with. He has no idea how he is, except hazy from all the Xanax and miserable from everything else.

“I’m fine. You sound kinda sad, though, are you alright?”

“Yeah. I just miss you.”

Pete realizes it’s raining heavily outside. He falls headfirst into the rhythm, heavy drops against his windowsill. He relishes in the feeling of his bones melting, of becoming one with the blurry surroundings.

Mikey is so far away. His hair is probably all messy, the man running his fingers through it time and time again.

“You can’t say things like that, you know. You just can’t.”

“What, you’re gonna forbid me? I’m gonna say whatever I want. And what I want to say is that I fucking miss you, Pete. Please, come home. Come home to me. I want to see you. I want to touch you. I want to – “

“No. I can’t. We can’t, remember? We don’t have a home together.”

“We could, though.”

Pete thinks maybe he’s still asleep, maybe it’s the Xanax, maybe something Mikey took, because nothing about this conversation seems real.

“We can’t. You know we can’t. I miss you a fuckload too, but you’ll wake up in the morning and realize how messed up this idea was.”

The silence on Mikey’s end of the line is broken by a loud exhale. Pete holds his chest, preventing his wrecked heart from falling out.

“Probably. I just miss you all the time. It’s like all we have anymore are memories.”

“Maybe that’s how it’s meant to be?”

Pete hates himself for even saying that. He never believed that ‘meant to be’ crap, he believes that everybody makes their own destiny. He’s just too scared of what Mikey is trying to imply.

Maybe they have a chance at this. Maybe they don’t and they would blow it, a failure of epic proportions. And Pete has failed enough in his life. Maybe he’s scared of trying. Maybe he’s just a coward. Maybe.

“Okay, I’ll call you when you make more sense. Night, Wentz.”

“Love you”, says Pete to the dead line.

 

(7.)

Patrick is a man. Patrick is the man, if Pete has to be fully honest. He has life so well put together; he wakes up with a purpose every day. When he's sad, it's for legitimate reasons. When he's happy, he's contained. He never needed pills to stop the mood swings. He never needed a reason not to kill himself. He's dealing with everything so well.  
He understands love.

Somehow, this man is Pete's best friend. The fact that Patrick understands him is probably the biggest blessing in Pete's life.

Pete silently celebrates every anniversary of their meeting. He would call Patrick, say "Hey man, we first met this many years today", and Patrick would be like "Oh yeah, I'll come over with a bottle of scotch in the evening". Pete silently celebrates every day of their friendship as well.

Pete knows that Patrick has noticed as soon as he opens the door. Patrick walks in, spins Pete around by the arms, snaps his fingers in front of Pete's face and asks, "How much did you take?"

"Some."  


"No, Pete, I need a number. An amount. Was that Ativan again? How much time has passed? Talk to me."

Patrick is not going to freak out, not even now. He's holding Pete's hand, searching for eye contact, fishing for answers.

"Not too much, Trick. Just some, okay? A couple of pills. I'm fine. I'll be fine."

Patrick is not convinced, and Pete can't blame him.

"Go throw up."

"No, I don't need to."

"Go throw up. I'll stick my fingers down your throat if I have to, seriously, you idiot, go throw up now."

Pete has to, but doesn't want to. He was pleasantly numb at least for a while, not feeling anything, right nor wrong, not thinking about Mikey and their last conversation.

Pete would rather feel nothing than something so terrible.

When Pete comes back from the bathroom, there's hot coffee waiting for him on the kitchen counter.

"You can't be trusted to stay alone for a couple of fucking days, Wentz, I swear. Why are you still taking this shit?”

Pete sits down on the floor beneath his TV, because it's too difficult to take any more steps. Patrick keeps looking at him for half a minute before joining him and sitting down.

"What is this about?"

"He called me last night. He called and he wants a life together, he just doesn't understand I have nothing to offer."

"Pete. Pete, please." Patrick is holding him, wiping away Pete's tears, trying to make sense of the situation. "Just call him back, tell him you want that too, and you're gonna work it out somehow."

"I'm gonna disappoint him. I'm not ready."

This is just too much, too big, too soon. Too scary.

"You're never gonna be ready, nobody ever is. Mikey isn't ready too, he might think he is, but he's not."

"We would be a tragedy, Trick. I fuck everything up."

"You are a tragedy now."

Maybe that's all they're ever going to be. A summer fling turned tragedy. Pete can write so many songs about that.

He stays on the floor with Patrick until the coffee gets cold and the sky goes navy blue.

 

(8.)

Pete is standing on his tiptoes at Arrivals gate, scanning all the people that appear from behind the glass door. It's like it always is, familiar in the worst way, businessmen with their black suitcases passing quickly by, exchange students with wide smiles, tanned complexions and funny hair getting hugged and kissed by their families, then yelled at for the funny hairstyle. An elderly woman is dragging a huge bag and Pete gets lost in her sad eyes for a second before a tall, gray-haired man approaches her and they form a perfect embrace.

Mikey doesn't even have a suitcase, just a modest backpack. He's wearing a black T-shirt of some obscure black metal band and jeans as tight as ever, but he's wearing his hair in a different way and his glasses are nowhere to be seen. Pete likes what he sees.  
He waves a little and tries to seem calm while his lungs are threatening to stop working any second.

Mikey's face lights up, _it's stupid_ , Pete thinks, _it's a stupidly beautiful face_ , and then he has no time to contemplate anymore, sinking deep into an embrace he's been longing for.

It seems like he's been waiting for ages.

Mikey grabs his hand and practically drags him to the parking lot, where they jump in Pete's car as fast as possible, and before Pete has time to properly turn to his right he's feeling Mikey's lips on his.

They kiss like it's their first and last time. There's always a sense of finality in everything they do. It used to be exciting, before it got so difficult to handle.

They don't even say 'hello' with words, just tongues and hands, then Pete drives to his house in silence. Mikey walks in like he fucking owns the place and undresses them both in a span of a minute.

They fuck.

They fall asleep.

Mikey wakes Pete up at 3 AM with hungry kisses.

"I love you so much, Mikey."

"I know. I love you too."

These are the first words they say to each other.

Waking up after having said that feels so good Pete wants the morning to never end. He knows it's yet another stolen week between MCR's recording session and FOB's Europe tour, he knows it's just a short moment of bliss, but he takes as much as he can from it. So they laugh in front of the TV, feeding each other strawberries, they make out endlessly, they tell stories from what they've missed from each other's lives, they're happy. It's simple, it's easy, it's painless.

Pete knows Mikey is going to leave. When he does, every song will turn into a song about Mikey. When he does, Mikey himself will turn into a 'what if' and Pete will remain imagining a perfect life he'll never have with the one that got away.

When he does, but this is today and they are still together. They wake up early in the morning just to hold hands and say words of love, Mikey makes the best waffles in the world and Pete doesn't want to leave his bed.

 

(9.)

Pete calls Mikey at 11 PM only to find out he's still at the studio and he can't talk. So Pete waits, tired but sleepless, until Mikey calls back after 1 AM.

"Sorry it took so long. We're working really hard; today isn’t even our record." Mikey sounds totally worn out and Pete worries. Mikey does stupid stuff when he's this tired sometimes.

"Is your brother out of his mind?"

"No, he's just - in the zone, I guess? He wants to make something monumental. We all want to, so yeah."

"You should go to sleep then, I'll hang up."

"No, Pete, wait. Talk to me. Like a lullaby, but with words."

They've been doing that for each other a while back and Pete always loved it, so he's glad to comply. He has so many stories from tour he wants to tell Mikey, but his mind instantly goes to a warm, distant place where he used to be so happy. He picks a story from the past.

"Remember the day I stole Chris's car on Warped?"

Mikey laughs, the sound light and sparkly in Pete's ear. "Oh yeah. That was pretty epic."

"Yeah. And I drove you to the fields, remember? It was a warm day, but not too warm, and Chris had these great albums in the car, you were screaming so loud to Danzig."

"We slowdanced in the fucking field. I was sure I am hanging out with an unhinged person. Who slowdances to Danzig, seriously, dude."

"No, no, that was Rancid."

"Equally bad choice."

Pete thinks maybe this was his favorite day of that summer. No expectations, the only worry was getting back to the venue on time, and Mikey was making him feel so lightheaded.

Pete will miss that day forever. Mikey's adorable laugh when they danced in the field, how they held hands on the gear stick and the wind in their hair.

"We kissed for the first time that day, you know?" says Mikey, and Pete scratches his head.

"Did we really?"

"Yeah. After we came back to the venue. You parked the car and we ran to hide from Chris behind my band's bus."

"Oh, I remember that now."

"I had no idea what was going on."

"Well, I had some idea. I liked your smell, I knew I'd like your taste, too."

"Did you? Did you like it?"

Pete fucking loved it.

"Sure. I still like it, Mikeyway."

"I think I'm gonna go to sleep now. Thanks for talking to me."

"My pleasure. Call me tomorrow? I won't be asleep anyway."

"Please, sleep, Pete. You're on tour, you need this. You gotta tell me everything tomorrow. How's the tour going, I mean. Will you?"

Pete laughs, but quietly. "Sure. Miss you."

"Miss you too. Goodnight."

Not hearing Mikey's voice anymore feels weird and unsatisfying. Pete curls up in bed, swallows a pill (just one) and listens to My Chemical Romance, trying to pick out the basslines, until sleep finally comes.

 

(10.)

Pete is risking a lot, he knows that, but he drives from the airport as fast as he can, LA warm and wonderful all around him. He's sleepless and jet-lagged like never before. They have just three days off tour, the boys are staying in Paris, but he's here, in LA, hoping that Gerard kept his secret.

He finds Gerard and Frank in front of the studio building, flooded by the colors of the setting sun. They're laughing about something, Frank putting off a cigarette on the ground, then noticing Pete and waving.

"Wentz! On time, once in your lifetime!"

Pete is in no shape to bother with their shenanigans. He needs to get to Mikey, now, not in five minutes, not in ten, now. Before it's too late.

"Is Mikey in?" he asks Gerard.

"Yeah, he's in. Alone. And he doesn't know anything, to anticipate your next question."

Gerard grins at him, almost mirroring the look on Frank's face.

"Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it."

"No big deal. Now go. Godspeed", says the older Way, and Pete all but runs into the building, leaving behind Frank's yell "Hope you brought condoms!"

He sees Mikey at the end of the hallway. The tall man is carrying a stack of takeout containers and paper cups. He drops everything at the sight of Pete.

"What the hell? Is that - are you -"

Pete doesn't let him finish. They meet halfway through the corridor and he kisses Mikey, mouthing "Hello, Way". Mikey holds him by the shoulders, more gentle than ever, like Pete's an unreal, ephemeral mirage.

"Did something happen, Pete? Is everything okay?" Mikey is a little short of breath when they break apart.

"No. Gotta talk to you, stat, that's why I'm here."

Mikey shows him into an empty room behind the studio space. They sit down. Mikey looks concerned. Pete wants to throw up.

"I couldn't do this over the phone."

Mikey's face falls. "Oh. I get it."

"No, you don't."

"Then tell me, please!"

Pete imagines a house. He imagines a home and coming back to Mikey every night, eating breakfast together in the morning. He imagines waking up to kisses of someone who loves him, not another one night stand. He imagines sharing every little joy and worry with Mikey.

He wants that, only that. It took him a while, but he finally knows. He's willing to take a risk of fucking everything up, just to have a chance.

He says all of this to Mikey, watching the eyes of the one he loves so much fill up with tears.

"Do you still want that? Do you still want me?"

"Why the fuck are you like this, Pete?"

Mikey stands up suddenly, one sharp move, the chair tumbles down. He leaves. The door slams.

Pete waits. He waits for nothing in particular, willing his fluttering heart to stop, staring mindlessly at his tattoos, not crying, not screaming, not yet.

Mikey comes back after half a minute, or maybe an eternity.

He kneels in front of Pete's chair, hugging Pete's knees, cuddling close. He smells like coconut sunblock and summer sweat.

"I'm gonna make it work, even if it's the last thing I'll ever do", he says quietly.

Pete tastes relief on the tip of his tongue. He holds weeping Mikey in his arms for minutes after minutes after minutes. Another summer is coming to an end.

 

(11.)

September comes along with unusually hot weather. Pete waits out a storm in his hotel room, watching the New York skyline turn nocturnal in the middle of the day. Before it clears out, it’s almost evening and he can’t see the sunset he was waiting for.

Everything is gray.

He’s not nervous, he’s telling himself that all the time while he’s drying one glass of water after another. His stomach is doing these weird flips and somersaults, but he’s pretty much used to that by now.

_This is the last time in my life I’m this nervous, ever. It has to be. I can’t take it anymore._

When he hears the door open with a beep of a card, he wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans and takes a breath so deep his lungs hurt.

Mikey’s adorable smile lights up the room instantly. “Hey there, handsome. So you got here first after all.”

Pete laughs nervously. “You know me; I’m all about waiting for you.”

Maybe he should’ve prepared a surprise – he had enough time, can’t deny that. Something romantic, something that would knock Mikey’s boots off, something to show how much he cares. But he twisted himself up in knots waiting, another month – long separation taking its toll, and he could do nothing but stare through the window and will Mikey closer.

Mikey says, “Come here”, and Pete does.

Coming back to Mikey feels like dying and being born at the same time. Feels like finding a crumpled piece of paper underneath your bed and discovering the best lyrics you ever wrote have been just there the entire time. It feels like summer breeze in the middle of fall, like a sip of cold water when you have a hangover, like the fan twisting above their heads never stopped turning.

They order room service and eat it off the plates first, then off each other. Mikey tells him about new MCR record. Pete tells stories about the finished tour and Andy’s British girlfriend nobody knew about. He’s feeling Mikey’s head heavy against his chest, Mikey’s hair tickling his neck, he’s holding Mikey’s hand and the presence of the other man is reassuring like never before.

They’re holding hands and the fan spins above their heads, fast. This, this almost feels like home.

“Are we gonna make it, Pete?”

“We’re totally gonna. This is just our last stop on the road.”

“Last stop before home. Are you ready?”

“As much as I’m ever gonna be, Mikes.”

 

*

Pete waits in a hotel lobby in New York City for the ‘what if’ he loves the most. For the best he’ll never know.

Pete waits for something that is never going to happen.

Or maybe it is.

Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> Each scene was inspired by a song of FOB's AB/AP. I shamelessly incorporated the lyrics into my text and twisted them so they'd fit my needs.  
> I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Talk to me in the comments, I live for that stuff.


End file.
